


Dear Mr. Graves

by Articianne



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, here's the angst you didnt ask for + some fluff you might need, who the hell knows anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Articianne/pseuds/Articianne
Summary: They found Mr. Graves in his own apartment. When no healer could approach him without his wandless magic injuring every single one of them, they turned to Tina. (One of many speculations on the original Graves.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> oh MAN? OH MAN? who'd have thought i'd strapped myself into this fatal rollercoaster? unsurprising.

 

Dear Mr. Graves had turned out to be Gellert Grindelwald, the dark wizard hailing from London, seeping through the shadows of the wizarding world and managing to stay hidden. Dear Mr. Graves happened to be that very dark wizard, Tina noted dazedly in the week following the reveal.

They had no idea what had happened to Graves himself, the auror and head of security who had been so skillful in wandless magic that nothing had seemed amiss when this switch seemed to have occurred. “They’ve searched _everywhere,_ ” said Abernathy grimly when Tina ran into him after concluding a meeting with President Picquery. “His own apartment. The whole city. They can’t find him!”

“Grindelwald won’t say anything about it?” said Tina, who didn’t want to think a single thought of that awful man. 

“He’ll open his mouth and spew weird philosophical riddles for hours,” said Abernathy, “but he won’t actually say anything useful. Can you imagine what Mr. Graves was goin’ through?”

She couldn’t imagine, but neither did she want to; the whole ordeal with the Obscurus had caused Tina to feel horrible things about Graves, at his manipulation of Credence Barebone, his terrible words to Tina herself when she’d shown up to keep him away from Credence’s Obscurus—”Tina, you’re always turning up where you’re least wanted!”—but it had all been Grindelwald. Grindelwald who had sent her to her death, not Graves. Not the Graves _she_ knew, who’d seen her through thick and thin and every time she’d made embarrassing little mistakes.

It made her feel a little better, but all of it drained away every time she remembered that dear Mr. Graves was still missing. Or, worse, dead.

“They’ll find him, Teen,” said Queenie one night when Tina sat down in front of the fire with coffee. “Or you can ask Newt. ‘M sure he’ll be happy to help somehow.”

“Think he’s got a creature to sniff out an auror who’s most likely dead?” Tina replied tiredly, staring at the fire.

Queenie bit her lip before wrapping her arms around herself. “He might,” said Queenie.

It _was_ a good thought, asking Newt, but Tina didn’t want to ruin the nice mood they’d left when he had voyaged back to London. Newt didn’t have to be included in any more of this. He’d done enough, as far as Tina was concerned, and she was eagerly awaiting his pamphlet despite all the exhaustion from returning back to her job. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, finding Graves was as much of an investigation—if not more—than any other job she had at the moment.

Tina returned to work the next week after hearing all about Queenie’s great meeting with Jacob Kowalski at his new bakery over the weekend. (He didn’t remember her—yet—but Queenie couldn’t stop mentioning that he always thought she was from a dream of his.) Abernathy, as always, lingered around to ask if Queenie was free that night (“Ask her yourself!” Tina said every time, and Abernathy only glared before strutting along somewhere else) and Tina spent much of her morning trying to drown out the noise of commotion at the front of the hall.

Until, finally, President Picquery was walking right over to her, quick and clipped, and every auror including Tina stood from their chairs as she approached. “Goldstein,” she said, tight-lipped. “Come with me.”

“Madam President?” said Tina, quickly pushing in her chair, nearly tripping on it, and tucking her wallet in her pocket.

But Picquery didn’t say anything as they walked away from the Major Investigative Department. Tina’s stomach shuddered with apprehension as they walked through the deep tunnels, dark and endless, close to the execution room in which she’d been sentenced by Gr— _Grindelwald._

When they approached the healing ward of the Congress, a host of fatigued healers made way for Picquery and herself, leading them through sterilized halls that smelled of poultices and some non-maj instruments. “In here, Madam President,” said one healer quietly, and the door to a small room opened before them.

The smell was the first thing that hit Tina, rolling in waves and making her eyes water. But a wave of her wand later and she was alright, as was Picquery. The second thing that hit Tina was _what_ made the smell. It was dear Mr. Graves, lying petrified and starving on the bed in the middle of the room, hair ragged and unevenly cut, cheeks sunken and sullen and grey.

“Oh, Mr. Graves,” said Tina weakly, barely able to say the words, and Picquery held her arm up.

“Careful, Goldstein. He’s in here for a reason,” Picquery advised her. Turning her head to the head healer, Picquery asked, “No news about releasing him?”

“He was bound when we found him, but he’s unstable without it,” said the healer. “Lashes out at anything that moves. That wandless magic of his is impossible to get around. We have a couple of our own healers being treated right now because of it.”

Picquery nodded, looking irritated. “I’m afraid Gellert Grindelwald’s done a number on Graves, here.”

How were they speaking about this so calmly? Tina’s fingers curled, aching. “Madam President—where—where did you _find_ him?”

“His own apartment, Goldstein,” said Picquery, thin-lipped. “Grindelwald hid him right under our noses. Petrified him and left him under floorboards, wrapped in so many curses it took us days to get past just one without being killed. We thought it was just Graves’s cautious barriers. It turns out it they were all wrapped around him. I’m so ashamed it took us so long to find him.”

 _Oh_ , did Tina feel absolutely awful. Lying on the bed several feet in front of her was dear Mr. Percival Graves, eyes wide open and bloodshot and crazed, and he had been like this for—for—Tina didn’t even want to think about it. He looked nothing like the Graves she’d known. Nothing like the Graves who had tried to send her and Newt to—but _no,_ that wasn’t Graves, that had been Gellert Grindelwald.

“Goldstein,” said President Picquery, “you’re the one who worked with Graves before the Barebones incident.”

“Yes,” said Tina, unable to look away from Graves.

“You know him best, then.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t say _that_ , Madam President—”

“Don’t think about what had happened with Grindelwald,” said Picquery firmly. “You’ve been tormenting yourself about this. The Graves you saw in the past couple weeks was not the Graves you knew. That was Grindelwald.”

Right.

Tina opted not to think about that. “But I don’t think he’d be any more trusting of me than any healers we have around here, Madam President.”

“Always ahead of the game, Goldstein. But you’re our best hope of getting him back. I’ll leave him to you,” said Picquery. “Until then, no other jobs. We have other aurors for that.”

“Madam President, I have to object, I have other—”

“ _This_ is your case,” said Picquery. “I’ll send someone down later with the details.”

 

* * *

 

In a span of a minute, she found herself sitting in a vacated room with Percival Graves lying shock silent on the bed beside her. And she didn’t know how long she ended up sitting there, staring at him. Every once in awhile a healer would come in, ask her a couple questions, before leaving her by her lonesome, watching the way Graves stared up at the ceiling with dilated pupils.

Tina guessed by the end of the hour that nothing was going to get done by just warily sitting several feet away. Standing, she approached the bed and looked down at his unmoving face. “Oh,” she said quietly, trying to keep her lip from trembling and from keeping her breath even, “what did he _do_ to you?”

Unsurprisingly, dear Mr. Graves was quiet.

“I guess you can’t talk back, but I hope you can hear me,” said Tina, unable to stop now that she had started. “I’m going to unpetrify you. Me. Tina Goldstein, alright? And we’ll—see where to go from there.”

Again, no reply, so Tina levelled her wand up at him. Steeling herself, she murmured, “ _Finite Incantatem._ ”

There was a moment, a tense blow of the air that made her hair stand on edge, before Graves roared and whipped his arms above him; the lights went out, shattering, and Tina narrowly dodged the tray that slammed into the wall behind her. “I don’t want to stun you, Mr. Graves! Please!” she yelled as he thrashed in the bed, waves of magic shaking the walls and pounding through her ears as she deflected them.

The moment she stepped closer, he reached up, palm bare in her face, spitting at her face; the world stopped for a moment, magic held in the air, and Graves snarled, a horrible sight.

“Mr. Graves?” Tina dared to whisper.

Graves’s fingers curled around into a fist and the air vanished from the room; Tina felt her throat close and she barely, just barely, managed to raise her wand—make the word—“ _Stupefy_ —”

He slipped, evidently unable to shrug off a stunning spell; Graves slumped straight to the floor with a loud thump. Tina gasped, drawing air back into her lungs—then once she could see clearly, she bent down beside him and heaved him over her shoulders. Despite being in the far worst shape she’d ever seen him, he still weighed much more than she did.

Graves would wake with time, she knew that. But Tina didn’t want to bind him for when he woke up. She’d woken up from being stunned into a bind before—it had made her terrified, probably the opposite effect of what they wanted. So she decided to wait, trying with all her might to erase the feeling of Graves pulling the air out of her. “He’s not Grindelwald,” she told herself as much as she could. “And he was just defending himself. He's not Grindelwald. . . .”

Healers walked in and out, asking if she needed anything. They cast worried looks at Graves’s stunned, unconscious figure, lying unbound on the rumpled sheets, but they didn't dare ask anything about it.

Tina fiddled with the pendant around her neck as she thought not about Graves, but about what was passing in the Investigative Department. Picquery explaining the situation. Queenie most likely hearing about it through Tina’s thoughts, as she normally did, or through word of mouth as she passed along mugs of coffee. Tina _could_ have been up there, speaking to the other aurors about how she could best help Graves along—or what Grindelwald _did_ to him. The thought lingered sourly in her head. As usual, she was taking orders rather than going with her gut.

It seemed like eternity until Graves made a noise on the bed, thick brows drawing together. Sparks lit by his fingertips before fading. He blinked, once, twice, and a half at the ceiling. His faded voice croaked, “Where is he?” before his eyes rolled back into his head and he promptly passed out.

 

* * *

 

“He’s exhausted,” said the healer, handing Picquery a form and nodding toward Tina. “Wiped out from stayin’ awake, bound all the time. Now that he’s had a taste of bein’ unconscious he’s gonna keep falling back asleep. Almost like he’s in a coma.”

Picquery looked past the healer and at the bed. “Any signs of noncooperation?”

“He wakes up every hour or so. Can’t sleep for long. Yells, doesn’t let people touch him—blasts them away when they do,” said the healer. “Then he just knocks himself out from fatigue.”

“He’s getting there,” agreed Picquery. She turned to Tina, giving her a long look before allowing the barest of smiles to cross her face. “You’re doing well, Goldstein. You should be there when he wakes up fully.”

“Madam President, with all due respect, I really think I should be up there figuring out what Mr. Grindelwald _did_ to Mr. Graves,” said Tina, stepping closer to the president; Picquery looked down, shook her head at the floor before turning her eyes back up. That would be enough of an answer for anyone other than Tina. But it _was_ Tina, and she said, “ _Madam President._ Look at Mr. Graves. Look at him. Grindelwald has to be brought to justice for what he did—”

“And he _will_ be, Goldstein, but right now your focus is on Mr. Graves. _Not_ Gellert Grindelwald.”

“My focus _is_ on Graves by making sure Grindelwald is brought to—”

“Justice, yes! Goldstein! All our aurors have their eyes glued to him,” Picquery interrupted, exasperated. “You aren’t the only person who can deal with Grindelwald. But you _are_ the only person who can help _him_.” She motioned with a tilt of her head to Graves on the bed behind her.

Tina knew very well she wasn’t the only person who could try to deal with Grindelwald and perhaps succeed, but she certainly was the one most entitled to it, in her humble opinion. (Except for perhaps Graves himself.) “I’ll do my best,” she muttered, turning her eyes away.

Picquery thanked her with a curt nod and clacked away, leaving Tina, the healer, and Graves in the room by themselves. The healer stared down at Graves’s file before asking Tina if she needed anything with Graves, or if she wanted to be in the room the next time he woke before most likely falling back asleep. “That’s alright,” she said, and the healer’s brows rose. “I just need to clear my head. I’ll be back.”

 

* * *

 

Clearing her head took the majority of the next week—as did Graves’s fatigue. Each day she sat in his room, watching his eyes fight nightmares behind closed lids, but he never woke until he’d been asleep for a good couple hours. “ _Where is he?_ ” he rasped every time, ripping the curtains and slamming the healers against each other wandlessly. His back arched, his fingers twisted as healers tried to approach him—they choked, and he cried out in pain as sparks flew before the effort overtook him and he fell back into a heated slumber. “Miss Goldstein,” implored the healer after the fourth day, “we need you to try again.”

“You’ve seen how he attacks those healers. You can’t imagine he’d take me as any less a threat,” she said. Truth be told, Graves this unhinged frightened her. She didn’t want to see him like this. She’d rather be investigating Grindelwald, not Graves, whose face she knew and had trusted prior to all of this. She liked to think she wasn’t scared of Grindelwald, that she could exact the anger she felt against him for treating her like he had. For killing Credence Barebone in his own wicked way. For attacking Newt. For torturing Graves. _Graves._

The healer hadn't asked any more questions. The next morning, she showed up to Graves’s room, ready to sit and watch and replay moments in her head where she got to take down Gellert Grindelwald.

He was awake, though.

Though awake, he was nearly comatose, until someone approached him—and he shrunk away, flinging them across the room as he did so. Tina watched in shock as he stared blankly at the wall, frozen with the occasional twitch of his finger.

“We found him like this,” said a healer beside her as they watched from the window outside. “He's unresponsive to everything except touch. And when someone gets close enough to do that, he just blasts them away. We have orders not to stun or petrify him, otherwise we’d be able to get close.”

And despite herself, Tina felt herself break somewhere deep inside.

She pushed the door open, ignoring the timid voice in her telling her to stop, to think about what she was doing. Shutting the door behind her with the barest of clicks, she turned her head over her shoulder and saw Graves watching the wall with no indication he'd heard anything.

One step forward. Graves did nothing.

Another, and he still watched the blank wall.

Yet another and his eyes remained still.

As she took her fourth step toward him, his left index finger twitched—and she ceased, not daring to breathe. Nothing happened. Graves didn't even blink.

The healers hadn't mentioned anything about sound, so Tina plastered herself in her spot and opted to take a chance. Slowly and with as much caution as she could muster, she clasped her hands behind her back and began, “It's—it’s me, Miss Goldstein.”

Nothing. (She exhaled slowly in relief.)

“Can you hear me?” she asked quietly, and to this, Graves still remained silent and unmoving. Deciding it was better than being thrown back and possibly breaking her neck via his wandless magic, she licked her lips and added, “Mr. Graves, sir?”

Time stopped; his index finger twitched, his eyes focused for a split second. They unfocused again—waves of magic and unformed spells thudded from his hands, too weak to affect her.

“Mr. Graves,” she tried again, gentler, and he blinked. _Blinked._

His eyes refocused, swam down to her shoes as she took another tentative step forward. “It's Miss Goldstein,” she said again. “Tina. You know me. Right?”

His eyes climbed her slowly, catching the sight of her arms behind her back before moving up her to her shoulders, chin-length hair, lips forming the words she spoke to soothe him, her eyes, finally. “It's Tina,” she repeated, breath coming shakily out of her lips as she took another step forward.

“Tina,” he croaked, and the tension in the air shook and shattered. Silent waiting spells dissipated from between them.

“That's right. It's me,” she said, voice about to crack. “It's Tina.”

A split second later, the world erupted and she found herself flung through the air, slamming into the door. “I WON'T LOSE TO YOU THIS TIME,” bellowed Graves, struggling to get up from the bed. “I KNOW IT'S YOU! I _KNOW_ —”

The door opened and a healer caught her from behind as others poured in, stunning a heaving Graves back onto the bed. “Miss Goldstein, we'll take it from here,” said one healer as Tina dazedly watched them pull a thin strand of white from Graves’s temple with their wand. “You go on home now. You go rest.”

“Mr. Graves,” she mumbled, struggling to stand. “What are you going to—”

But they never answered her.

 

* * *

 

It turned out, as whatever God existed outside the blessed damned Earth planned to happen, that dear Mr. Graves was not approached by Gellert Grindelwald himself at first. The healers had taken a look at what remained in Graves’s memory through the Pensieve and saw Tina herself luring Graves through his home before becoming Gellert Grindelwald. Before wreaking havoc on dear Mr. Graves.

“I can't believe it,” Queenie gasped when Tina's thoughts came apparently hurtling through the air toward her that night. “You? Why you, Tina?”

“Beats me!” said Tina, furious. “I can't believe it, either! Me. Me! He—he used _me_ to get to Mr. Graves, Queenie. Somehow got some way to show up at Graves’s house looking exactly like me.”

Given Grindelwald’s obsession with Credence Barebone, Tina was already certain Grindelwald had known about her scandal with the mother and her relationship with Credence before any of this had even happened. She was certain he'd found something of hers from the day she'd comforted Credence. Certain that he did so and the next morning he had replaced Graves in their lives and no one had been the wiser.

But to actually become her and trick _Graves_. . . .

“He doesn’t trust me,” she said, rubbing a hand over her eyes as Queenie pulled her into a loving embrace. “Queenie, he thinks I'll hurt him.”

“He thinks you're Gellert Grindelwald, Teen,” said Queenie, biting her lip. “All you gotta do is show him you're really Ms. Tina Goldstein. What d’you know about him Grindelwald don't know?”

So as she made her way back to the healing ward the next day, she thought long and hard about it. She knew Graves liked black coffee with no cream but plenty of sugar for some ridiculous reason. She knew he preferred wandless magic because he tended to slam his own wand on hard surfaces whenever his temper got the best of him (and it never turned out well). Tina knew he was ambidextrous, that he preferred pie over strudel except when it was à la mode, so then he preferred strudel, but he'd never let anyone except her and Picquery know because it was embarrassing, right?

But those were all things anyone could know, really. Heavens knew Graves knew awful, embarrassing things about her, like the time she accidentally brought over a file to his office about the benefits of one shot of gigglewater she was reading as opposed to what he’d _asked_ for, the rising security around Durmstrang in Europe.

It was when she walked past the Major Investigative Department that she remembered the Barebone family the day the Second Salemers had been Obliviated. “ _Tina, if you need an eye on the children, I'll do it for you,”_ he'd said. He'd argued to keep her an auror. He had been the only one to do so. “ _Eyes on them at all times until you become an auror again. No harm will come to them, you know that.”_

Tina shut her eyes and wanted desperately not to think of those children, especially Credence, who hadn’t even _been_ a child—who she never knew had taken such a liking to Graves—and what had become of him . . . affected by Grindelwald taking advantage of the relationship Graves had established with him.

She held her knuckles to her mouth, blinking away wet eyes, not realizing she’d stopped in the middle of the hallway. Aurors passed by her, casting odd looks over their shoulders.

Her feet kicked into overdrive, pounding hall after hall until she reached the healing ward. No one asked questions—Tina Goldstein always had something on her mind, whether it be the Second Salemers, or how to have President Picquery sign off on another investigation, or if dear Mr. Graves was acting without thinking—and she reached the ward as fast as she’d ever done so in her life.

Bursting through the door, Tina cried, “Out!” And a split second later, she added, “Please!” as the healers jumped.

“Miss Goldstein, what—”

“I need to speak with Mr. Graves,” she said hastily. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Might we remind you he thought you were—”

“It won’t take long,” she repeated, stepping past the healers. Graves was lying on the bed, stunned. As usual. “I’ll be alright. I hope.”

So they left her, assuring her they would be watching from the observation room should anything go wrong. Tina thanked them for it and stomached the apprehension as the door shut behind them.

Graves stirred on the bed.

Inhaled, groaned, and stirred a little more. Tina moved to the side of the bed, just beyond his line of vision, bending her head low. She twirled the pendant around her neck anxiously before reminding herself to stay as calm as she could. Act natural. Right? If only she knew how Grindelwald had acted—she _could_ have found out had Picquery allowed her to interrogate him.

But her current focus was currently waking up on the bed, blinking rapidly and holding a hand to his head. His perception was all off. She could tell. He didn’t seem to notice she was there with him.

Tina whispered a last-minute prayer and tapped her foot.

Graves froze on the bed; his jaw clenched, but nothing happened to her as she’d been expecting. Tina saw the process of his thinking. His fingers twirled, his head angled ever so slightly toward her, preparing himself. He was deathly quiet, listening. So she let herself breathe. She’d seen this before, how he analyzed who was where and how they acted. _Calm,_ she reminded herself.

A couple seconds later, Graves straightened, turned his head right toward her.

“Mr. Graves,” she said, “I was waiting for you to wake. I have some news about some things, sir. There are healers watching from the other room.” And she promptly sat down on the chair beside his bed, acting as normal as she could even though she was _this close_ to depositing her breakfast on the floor in front of her.

“Tina?” said Graves hoarsely, frowning.

“Gellert Grindelwald was found impersonating you for at least two weeks here at MACUSA, sir,” she began, and his eyes flashed at the name—but she plowed right through it. “He’s been caught and he’s being kept until trial. I know it’s been a long, rough time for you, Mr. Graves. But if you want to see him, we have him locked up, sir. I swear we have him locked up.”

Graves stared at her. Astounded, perhaps.

“I’m not him, Mr. Graves,” said Tina, finally bringing it up. “And I think you know that. I was just reinstated as an auror. Remember how you tried to keep me on the team? Remember how you promised to watch over the Barebone kids?”

His eyes flashed again—but of recognition, and Tina’s heart began to settle in her chest. But he said, instead, “I can’t trust you.”

At least he wasn’t blasting her through the air. She’d take it.

So Tina just watched him as he did to her, feeling herself smile regardless of what he’d said. “You got every right not to,” she murmured, nodding, fingers shaking as she reached for her pendant. “If you gotta see President Picquery to—”

“Tina,” said Graves, clenching the sheets in his large hands, “please. I _believe_ you. But I can’t trust you.”

Tina knew it was because of that wretched Grindelwald. “Mr. Graves, sir,” she said quietly, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “ _Percival,_ ” she amended, even quieter somehow, and his eyes snapped open.

But the words she wanted to say to him were words she didn’t want the healers hearing. Instead, she exhaled and leaned back. “I’ve gotta let the healers come in now,” she told him. “You went through a lot, sir, but it’s over now.”

As she stood to leave, his hand grabbed hers, tight, white-knuckled. “Tina. Are you coming back later?”

“I got no choice,” said Tina. If it made him trust her again, she had to do it.

His dark, wide eyes searched her for sincerity—she squeezed his hand back, and he relaxed, letting go. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Graves,” she said, tucking her hands back into her pockets. As she left, the healers filed in after her one by one, and the world seemed a little lighter.

 

* * *

 

The healers quickly realized there was no way to get rid of Miss Tina Goldstein after that. Once she’d come back, she never left. She brought a bag enchanted with an endless supply of books, photos, the post, sugar to pour into black coffee. She brought some files from his office (which, of course, was alway difficult to get into, given he was the Director of Magical Security) and let Mr. Graves ease himself back into work. She kept a change of clothes with her and a blanket. She slept right in that very chair beside his bed.

Queenie didn’t mind. “Teen, you gotta do it,” she said understandingly. “He’d-a done the same thing for you. Right?”

“Right,” said Tina, because he had in the past. Many times.

It took time, lots of it. Every once in awhile he’d wake and immediately defend himself in blind, furious terror. But those moments passed and became few, until he could wake comfortably and not expect Gellert Grindelwald waiting at the foot of his bed. “Tina,” he demanded when she brought him the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ Newt had sent for her, “who’s this Scamander guy?”

“A friend of mine. He saved your life, you know,” she said fondly. “You’d like him, sir.”

And after she explained, well, everything, the only thing Graves had to say made her laugh for the first time in a long time. “Mr. Scamander got kicked out of Hogwash?” demanded Graves.

“Hogwarts,” she corrected after she managed to breathe.

He waved it away. “So he just walks around town with a case of hundreds of magical creatures?” said Graves, flipping the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ over.

“Sometimes he doesn’t keep them in the case. One time he left an Occamy egg with a No-Maj,” she said, and his eyes turned up to her incredulously. “Hatched right in that No-Maj’s hands.”

“The same No-Maj you said your sister likes?”

“Kowalski. That’s the one.”

“Kowalski,” Graves parroted. “Interesting. Obliviated, you said?”

“That’s right,” said Tina, “but Queenie thinks he still remembers some stuff.”

Graves hummed under his breath.

The days passed in that sort of fashion, with Tina reintroducing the small trivialities of life back to dear Mr. Graves. It was about two months after they’d first found him when he finally asked about what Tina had been waiting for. “I have to see him,” he said, roaming around his room and gathering his things. (He’d been walking around for awhile now, but not permitted to leave his room until he’d been able to wake up for a week without having an episode. Even then he had to have a healer with him.) “You said he’s being held here?”

Gellert Grindelwald, he meant.

“MACUSA’s got him,” Tina told him. “I got to get permission.”

“Never mind that. I’ll tell Picquery myself,” said Graves. “Come with me, Tina.”

 

* * *

 

Seeing Gellert Grindelwald did things to dear Mr. Graves, Tina could tell. He went pale with anger and his teeth ground together so clearly she could hear it. “I want to kill him,” he admitted under his breath, voice low.

Tina didn’t blame him.

It was a new obsession Graves found. Watching Grindelwald from behind the observation glass. Analyzing him, every single move. Every twitch of Grindelwald’s different colored eyes. “I won’t be fooled again, Tina!” he said when she brought him coffee in his office, black, three packs of sugar. “He won’t do this to me again. To _you_ again.” He said this every day. Every day, and when Grindelwald escaped, he ran with it, losing his mind.

“He didn’t do anything to me. He won’t do anything else to you,” said Tina, and Graves ran a shaking hand through his hair, breathing heavily. “Mr. Graves? Graves!”

He froze, stared up at her under dark brows, hair falling over his forehead.

“Grindelwald’s a coward,” said Tina. “He had to use a disguise to get anywhere in the city. He’s on the run. He’s always talking about how we shouldn’t be _scuttling in the shadows,_ or whatever. But what’s he doing?”

Graves stayed silent, brows furrowing.

“He’s a coward and a hypocrite, right?” Tina continued. “We’ve got him running. You got him running.”

“Tina,” he started, shaking his head, “it’s not as simple as you’re making it sound. He’s a dark wizard. I didn’t do my job! I’m head of security, Tina, and I let him _slip_.” The last word was strained and angry, matching Graves’s flared nostrils and wrinkled, worried brow.

A long, deafening silence rang after Graves’s words. She waited until he stopped pacing, ‘till his hands stopped their tremors and ‘till he sat down behind his desk. Stepping in front of him and unmoving from in front of his desk, she regarded him cautiously as he hid his eyes under his hands. “You can’t blame yourself for it,” said Tina, quiet, once he let his hand drop.

He held a finger to his lips, thinking, eyes slipping shut. “You know it isn’t your fault,” she said anyway, not knowing if was even hearing her.

Graves’s eyes opened again, finger still pressed to his lips. Tina’s eyebrows rose as she waited.

“Your friend Mr. Scamander,” said Graves. “How do I reach him?”

 

* * *

 

Tina found herself posting Newt Scamander over the course of the next two weeks. With Queenie, she sat and flipped through whatever copies of the _Daily Prophet_ they got in New York. Graves’s office became a mess of paper and enchantments floating in the air as he followed leads. “Bulgaria, sir?” she asked when Graves showed up at her desk with a file two inches thick. “Again?”

“He’s hiding again. _Rat_ ,” said Graves, nose wrinkling in distaste. And he then told her to stop by in the evening at his apartment—and to bring her sister if she didn’t trust him, to which she immediately rolled her eyes. “Bring your files. And your wand. And the replies from Mr. Scamander.”

She showed up, files, wand, Mr. Scamander (in spirit) and some dinner in tow five hours later at his apartment. She’d been there before, plenty of times—it was nothing new. But _now_ , showing up, knowing this was where Grindelwald had kept him in secret . . . stuck in his own house . . . Tina didn’t know how Graves went home every day. She’d have offered her own place with Queenie if Mrs. Esposito wasn’t a problem.

Graves showed up at his door several seconds after she knocked, looking past her, checking their surroundings until he was sure all was good before letting her in. “Brought them?” he inquired, and she handed him her files. “This all of it?” he said.

“And Newt’s posts,” said Tina, standing still in the foyer. “And dinner. I figured you were working too hard, sir.”

He looked at her weirdly before taking the food. “Hot dogs,” he said once he’d looked inside. “Typical. Make yourself comfortable, Tina.”

She did, and she finally had a chance to look around. He’d overhauled the entire apartment. Tore down the wallpaper, redid the mouldings. Threw out the furniture. Replaced the floorboards. Biting her lip, she looked over her shoulder at Graves, who was organizing the files by date on the dining table.

“Didn’t bring your sister?” said Graves finally, once he’d splayed everything over the table.

“She had a date,” said Tina. Never mind the fact that Tina hadn’t even mentioned this to her. (Though Queenie likely figured it out herself.)

“Kowalski?”

“You remember him?” she said, surprised.

“Of course I do. I thought he’d been Obliviated?”

“Queenie’s got a date with him anyway, sir,” said Tina, smiling to herself.

He got that look on again, where his eyebrows drew together in a straight line and where he stared at her until she had to blink and look away. “Tina,” said Graves, “if you call me ‘sir’ one more time outside the department I’m going to take you off the investigative force myself.”

“Have a hot dog,” she replied, ignoring the jump in her stomach. “I bet you didn’t eat all day. And then you can tell me what I’m doing here, Mr. Graves.”

“Just Graves. _You,_ ” he said, as a plate wafted through the air and picked some hot dogs up on the way, “are here because you’re the only one I trust to not say a word to the department.”

“Graves?”

“I think Grindelwald’s in Bulgaria, like I told you,” he continued, voice low. “Now, if you look—carefully, Tina—”

He pointed at the floating documents in front of him before holding the same finger to his lips, contemplative. “Accounts mention him taking residence in western Bulgaria, possibly making his way to Durmstrang. We know he’s been there before—”

“Graves,” she said again, but he didn’t stop. “Graves,” she repeated, and pulled his hand from his face, which did nothing to halt his wide eyes plastered on the files in front of him, searching each one quickly, calculating. “Percival!”

He flinched, turned his head toward her, met her eyes as she lowered the files back to the table with her wand. Tina’s other hand grasped at his forearm, steadying him as he drew in a breath and let it out heavily. “Tina,” he started after a moment, eyes watching her under thick eyebrows, “what are you doing?”

“Not sure,” whispered Tina, though she was very bad at doing whatever she was unsure about, well, doing. “But I know if you—if you keep doing this, I don’t think you’ll like what you find.” Her voice trailed off near the end and her hand dropped from his arm.

Graves didn’t stop looking at her, eyes tracing the outline of her face. “What am I going to find, Tina?”

Tina shook her head. “Lots of . . . problems, and . . . danger . . . your name, the latest victim. . . .”

And, what she hadn’t seen in forever, a sort of distraction she didn’t realize existed in this current Graves appeared before her as he turned his head closer, angling toward Tina. “Oh, Miss Goldstein?” he said. “Are you worried?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, eyes flitting away.

He raised one hand, lifted it to her jaw, about to trace it with one finger. Suddenly she saw Graves, heard him, from months ago—from Grindelwald—“ _She receives the same sentence. Tina. You’re always turning up where you’re least wanted. . . .”_

“Tina,” said Graves, and his hand was back down at his side. “Tina!”

“Y-yes. Yes?”

“What did he do to you?” said Graves. “What did he do?”

It took a while to get her to speak. She found every time she opened her mouth to talk, nothing would come out—no way to tell him what he’d said to her. What Grindelwald had done to her and Newt. But this was Graves. Director of Magical Security—established wizard, strong . . . and she knew more than just one Legilimens other than her sister. “Show me, Tina, let me see,” he said, kneeling front of her. Tina’s wet eyes slipped shut as she sat in one of the dining room chairs and he knelt close. Then he was there—seeing what Grindelwald did under Graves’s name: _“—therefore guilty of a treasonous betrayal—sentenced to death. Miss Goldstein, who has aided and abetted you—she receives the same sentence._ ” And it was Graves’s very face, healthy and full and supposedly distraught at giving this sentence. And then it was the Obscurus in New York, and it was Graves calling him a miracle, and it was Tina calling his name from behind him and Graves— “ _Tina, you’re always turning up where you’re least wanted_!” —and the car whipping toward her. . . .

When she’d summoned his wand and Newt had leveled his wand on him and Graves had stared at her with unrecognizable hatred. . . .

Graves pulled from her mind, holding her close. “Shh,” he whispered. “Shh. No, Tina. Shh. . . .”

“I know it wasn’t you,” she said, hiccuping. “I know it wasn’t you.”

He pulled away, jaw clenched. “But you thought it was.”

Tina shook her head, staring dazedly at his waistcoat, at the way his hands moved to wrap her in the throw from his sofa. “Shh,” he said again, once more pulling her into his chest. “Years of you following me around the department, I couldn’t say those things to you. I have my moments, but _you,_ Tina, I couldn’t.” Hands in her hair, he murmured, “The gigglewater. Remember that? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone enjoy their job as much as you, doing an investigation and reading about gigglewater like that at the same time.”

She laughed, despite herself, made a mental note to write Newt to send her some gigglewater from overseas so she could give some to Graves, and thanked Graves mentally for the slight distraction. “Better?” said Graves, cocking his head to match the way she turned her own. “Tina?”

“Better,” she murmured, rubbing her wet cheeks.

“Good. Good,” he said. “Good. Forget about the files for tonight. Take the spare room. Sleep. I’ll clean up, send a post to your sister, check up on you. Okay?”

“Mr. Graves, I couldn’t.”

“ _Graves,_ ” he insisted. “Tina, take a hot dog and go to sleep.”

He heard no more of her as he dragged her to a room—this one also completely redone, walls bare compared to what she’d seen before—and, just as meticulous as Graves himself, she found the room spotless. “You know where everything is,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. “Tina, _rest._ ”

So that night, she slipped under the sheets of the bed in his spare room, tried not to think about which floorboard Grindelwald had pulled out and used to hide Graves when all this had started, and went into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

When she went back to her house the next morning, Queenie didn’t read her mind. “I got Mr. Graves’s letter,” said Queenie softly, following Tina around as she hung her overcoat over the door. “He said you had a rough night. Teen, what happened?”

“We got to talking,” said Tina. “He wanted to work on finding Grindelwald. Tracking down leads.”

“Career girl,” said Queenie fondly. She didn’t ask any more and, miraculously, didn’t search through Tina’s head.

Tina set out to work after that, gathering her things, grabbing toast on her way out even though Queenie wanted to have her sit down and eat. _Dear Mr. Graves,_ she thought in her head, writing out the mental letter in her head, not sure where she was heading with it. _Thank you for your hospitality. I wanted to apologize for the hassle. . . ._ But it wasn’t any use, she didn’t know what to say.

“Goldstein! Goldstein!” There came Abernathy, his voice as always audible over everything else. “Hey, Goldstein!”

“Hello, Abernathy,” said Tina, not thinking about Abernathy at all.

“How’s your time as an auror, huh? Sure miss having you down in the permit office. . . .”

“As exciting as ever,” she told him, dropping her bag on her chair. Her eyes dropped toward a letter penned to her in a familiar script. Abernathy kept talking, and Tina outright ignored him, picking up the letter and curiously opening the seal.

 _Dear Miss Goldstein,_ it said.

Oh.

Abernathy said something, huffed, and wandered away. Tina didn’t bother with him—her eyes hung over the simple sentence on the rest of the page. _Let’s try again,_ it said. _PG._

When she looked up, she just saw the tail end of dear Mr. Graves’s coat vanish from Picquery’s office. She made a mental note to pick up something a little more extravagant than hot dogs.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would be, and a lot fluffier than i thought it would be, and graves ended up a halfway a sap and halfway a bitch. more bitchy graves on the way in other fics. this was a warm up. a warm up that took too long. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ARTI OUT


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